


Demands and Desires

by chaos_monkey



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: AC3, Anal Sex, Bottom Haytham, Briefly Dubious Consent, Father/Son Incest, First Civ bloodline stamina, M/M, Manipulative Asshole!Haytham, Outdoor Sex, Semi-Clothed Sex, Topping from the Bottom, Touch-Starved, Unhealthy Relationships, Virgin!Connor, but the author just wanted a flimsy excuse to write absolute filth, this is not a happy fic, unapologetic smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26450446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_monkey/pseuds/chaos_monkey
Summary: Haytham finds his son's weakness, and exploits it.
Relationships: Haytham Kenway/Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor
Comments: 14
Kudos: 65





	Demands and Desires

**Author's Note:**

> A heads up, Haytham sometimes refers to Connor as 'the boy' in this fic, but he is well over 18. Also, I haven't actually finished playing through AC3 but as far as I can tell, Haytham is pretty much an unrepentant jackass, so that's how I've written him ^.^
> 
> Please heed the tags and don't read this if you find incest and/or manipulative sex (from the abuser's POV) upsetting.

  
  


Haytham can’t sleep. 

It’s late, the only light from the waxing moon above him and the dying embers of the fire before him, and he’s weary from days of travel on horseback, but he can’t sleep because Connor won’t stop _fidgeting_ behind him. 

Strange though it is, only a few days after the threats and tense exchange in that church, Haytham and his son— his son, and to his frustration, the Assassin who has been causing the Templars so much trouble lately— have settled into this tentative truce, travelling together and sharing a bed for warmth against the chill nights, lying back-to-back as near the fire as possible. Connor still doesn’t trust him though, Haytham can tell. He had initially hoped the boy would be naive enough to put unwarranted stock in their estranged blood relation— and yes, for all his size and experience in bloodshed and the blustering bravado of young adulthood, his son is still almost painfully immature in some ways— but Connor has thus far remained wary; suspicious and on guard at all times. 

Even when he should be sleeping. 

Stifling a sigh of irritation, Haytham rolls over and curls up behind Connor, his front pressing against his son’s back, and slings an arm over his waist. “Sleep. You need rest unless you care to risk falling from your horse tomorrow.” 

Connor has stiffened at the touch, his body tense and his breathing shallow and uneven. But he doesn’t object, nor does he pull away, and by the time Haytham finally, mercifully slips into slumber, Connor is already asleep, calm and relaxed and snoring softly in his father's embrace. 

* * *

Haytham hadn’t expected something so simple as physical contact to work where words and clever arguments of shared goals and aligned interests had failed; but he realizes quite quickly that he perhaps should have. Connor, it seems, is almost painfully starved for human contact and even the barest hint of intimacy, something which Haytham has no compunctions whatsoever using to his own advantage. He has never been terribly gifted with the platitudes and empty kind words so many others come by so readily, but he can and does ensure that in addition to the new habit of sleeping entwined together, he finds excuses for physical proximity and calculatedly casual touches more and more as the days pass: sitting closer than necessary over meals, a lingering clasp of the shoulder or warm pat on the back, and Connor finally begins to relax around him without even seeming to notice it happening. 

It just as quickly becomes clear from the few details he manages to pry from his son in seemingly idle conversation on the trail that not only has Connor been largely deprived of platonic touch for years, he has also never explored or indulged in the more carnal pleasures of the flesh with another. This particular lack is made abundantly clear by Connor’s more base and increasingly frequent reactions to Haytham’s closeness at night, the evidence of which is impossible for Haytham not to notice after the third morning in a row when he awakes with a very conspicuous and unmistakable hard heat pressed against his hip; followed by a silently flustered and awkward Connor disappearing into the forest for a time. 

Haytham has no compunctions about using this to his advantage, either. 

He tests his theory one night, to be certain, feigning sleep and shifting with an incoherent mumble so that his leg is slung over top of one of Connor’s thickly muscled thighs and his arm slips down to 'inadvertently' brush across— 

Connor goes rigid against him, breath catching raggedly in his chest, and there is absolutely no mistaking that he’s already half hard under the thin material of his underclothes. Haytham stills, carefully maintaining the steady, shallow breathing of sleep, as though his arm isn’t resting across his son’s barely clothed groin under their shared covers. Despite the fact that he’s not even moving, he can feel Connor’s tension nearly vibrating against his chest; can feel that mound of heat stirring and thickening further beneath his wrist and the uneven rise and fall of Connor’s chest as his son pants quietly next to him. 

When Connor finally, carefully extricates himself and slips away into the night, Haytham lets him go and smiles into the darkness. 

* * *

The next night, Haytham makes less of a pretense of sleep and presses in close almost as soon as they lie down for the night. He slips one hand across the flat plane of Connor's stomach to take his hip in the faintest hint of a grip; carefully but casually settling himself so that Connor cannot fail to feel the warmth of Haytham's breath on his neck and the heat of Haytham’s groin nestled in snugly against the outside of his thigh. 

It works in precisely the manner Haytham expected it would. If Connor even notices his father is still awake, he says nothing, body nearly humming with leashed tension; and though Haytham has purposely not quite touched his cock this time, it is a matter of mere moments before he feels his son's growing arousal nudge up against his wrist. 

Connor twitches and moves to slink out of bed again, and this time, Haytham doesn't let him leave. 

"Stay," he murmurs, gripping Connor's hip more blatantly. 

Connor freezes, his shallow breathing pausing and then resuming, more rapid and uneven than before. Haytham feels him begin to shift, an aborted movement to roll away; but he doesn't. His mouth opens and closes, just visible in the cold blue light of the full moon; but he says nothing, makes no sound. 

"I can help," Haytham says instead, pitching his voice soft and low and warm in a manner he _knows_ many find deeply alluring. 

Releasing Connor's hip, he slides his hand inwards, slowly so as not to spook the boy. Connor does make a sound, then, a wordless noise in the back of his throat when Haytham palms his stiffening cock through his underclothes, and still he doesn't pull away. 

Haytham shifts, pressing tighter against him, pressing his own hips forward in the ghost of a thrust so that Connor can feel Haytham's mirrored desire against him. Haytham is not so unaware as to pretend he won't enjoy this for more than his underlying goals of binding Connor to him. Connor is young and virile and attractive— and yes, Haytham will privately admit to the arrogance of finding someone who reminds him of himself so enticing— and Haytham intends to take full pleasure in such a deliciously forbidden act. 

Connor is also, it seems, very pleasingly endowed, given the impressive size and girth of the erection straining eagerly under Haytham's hand, and Haytham finds himself very glad he'd planned ahead by preparing himself for… any eventuality. 

"Have you truly never been bedded before?" he asks, curling his fingers around his son's arousal and _squeezing,_ albeit gently. Watching Connor's face contort, lips parting and eyes squeezing shut in sudden pleasure, sends a fresh jolt of lust straight to Haytham’s own rapidly hardening cock. "By man or woman?" 

"No," Connor answers, and his voice is already strained and hoarse though Haytham has scarcely touched him at all. 

"Hmm… a pity," Haytham murmurs, twisting to slip his hand into Connor's clothing and grip him flesh-on-flesh instead. 

Connor arches his back in surprise, sucking in a sharp, shaky breath and exhaling it again in an equally shaky gasp as Haytham slides the firm grip of his fist down to the base of Connor's shaft in a slow, smooth stroke. "We— we shouldn't be… this… it's wrong." 

"You and I both routinely perpetrate acts others denounce as 'wrong'," Haytham answers with a thoughtful hum. He strokes again, rubbing his thumb over the already slick, leaking tip of Connor's cock and watching his son's moonlit face in the darkness. "You would commit the violence yet deny yourself a simple taste of pleasure at the hands of one of few in this world who truly understand you?" 

Haytham quickens the movement of his hand as he speaks, tightening his fingers, and he knows he's won when Connor only groans, hips bucking jerkily to fuck up into his grip. Connor is already panting, his breathing ragged. Haytham can feel the tension coiling tighter in his son’s body, can feel the already urgent heat throbbing in his fist; and to Connor’s whimper of dismay, Haytham releases his cock to reach down and yank his own breeches off one leg. 

Connor’s breath hitches, his eyes widening in realization as Haytham quickly straddles his hips. Spitting into his palm, he reaches back to take Connor’s twitching cock in hand again and raise it up, pressing it against his entrance from behind. He pauses, waiting with the blunt, wet heat of his son’s cockhead nudging into his hole, giving Connor a chance to object. 

He doesn’t. 

Haytham begins pressing down onto Connor’s cock, unable to hold back a tremor and a deep groan as he’s breached. He cleaned and slicked himself open with oil just before coming back to crawl into bed for the night, but Connor is still not easy to take like this. 

The stunned expression of blissful disbelief on Connor’s face makes it _more_ than worth the difficulty, however; and a bolt of arousal makes Haytham’s cock jump between his spread thighs when Connor tenses and jerks and comes with a strangled cry before Haytham’s managed to sink even halfway down his length. It’s been awhile since Haytham was fucked by anything but his own fingers, but the muted wash of heat as Connor spills inside him is still familiar; as is the hot throbbing and twitching of Connor’s stiff cock while he shudders through his release, fingers gripping Haytham’s thighs helplessly, and hard enough to hurt. 

Haytham finds himself deriving a deep, perverse pleasure at the thought of the marks it will leave, at the anticipation of the marks he will leave on his own son in turn before this night is through; and he forces Connor deeper with another groan, leaning down to sink his teeth into Connor’s neck while the boy is still shaking and trembling through the aftershocks. If they truly are as alike as Haytham thinks, Connor will have no trouble staying erect; and it seems he’s right. 

He waits, patiently; long enough for Connor to calm slightly beneath him and long enough to accustom himself to the dull burn of the stretch, before he begins moving, rocking back and forth, Connor’s thick length sliding easily in the mix of oil and his own come. Connor is still panting hard, low moans and soft whines rising in his throat and mingling with Haytham’s own harsh grunts of appreciation. He even forgets his own ulterior motives for a time, consumed by the pleasure he typically must deny himself, lest others learn of the Grand Master’s… predilections. 

But here, now, with Connor— he can enjoy himself, and he does; because who would the boy tell? Even for an Assassin, admitting to fucking your own father goes well beyond the inappropriate and into the truly depraved. 

For the moment, it doesn’t seem this particular Assassin has considered that, and Haytham ensures Connor doesn’t think beyond the demands and desires of his own body just yet. Curling his fingers in Connor’s hair, he tugs the boy’s head back to bite and suck at the tender flesh of his bared throat, capturing his lips in a hard kiss that’s all nipping sharp teeth and probing wet tongues. He never ceases moving through it all, fucking himself on his son’s stiff cock until he’s aching for his own release, cock twitching and leaking a slick puddle onto Connor’s shirt; and if Connor’s grunts and strained gasps and desperate moans are any indication, he is already nearing another orgasm as well. 

“Next time,” Haytham grates in between harshly panting breaths, and Connor stifles a cry as Haytham bites his already-swollen bottom lip with a growl, “next time I will bend you over and show you pleasure you’ve never even _dreamed_ of until you can hardly breathe for begging me for _more._ ” 

He still has one hand tangled in his son’s sweaty hair, and he drops the other to his own cock with a moan of relief, his hips stuttering as they try to fuck into his own grip instead. Connor lets out a strangled whimper, his chest heaving; and then Haytham feels him plant his feet to take over, thrusting up desperately, jolting Haytham forward hard enough that he nearly overbalances with a curse. 

Disentangling his fingers, Haytham plants his hand firmly on Connor’s shoulder, kneeling over top of his son and working his own throbbing cock hard and fast. He can’t help arching his back and canting his hips while Connor fucks up into him, hips pumping frantically between his legs. Sweat trickles down his spine under his already sweat-damp shirt, heat tightening behind his cock and words tumbling unbidden from his lips in a breathless rush. 

_“Yes, yes, that’s it, Connor, don’t stop, I— I’m—”_

Release crashes through him and he barely remembers to hold back a hoarse shout when he comes, jerkily fisting his cock as his seed arcs out over Connor’s belly. He can feel himself clenching and spasming around Connor’s cock with each spurt, the tightness making his son feel almost unbearably large inside him, and the last, feeble pulses of come are still dripping from his aching cock when Connor shudders beneath him and chokes out, “Haytham— _Father—!_ ” 

The word is almost a sob, incredibly indecent in the moment, and it gives Haytham an unexpected thrill of utterly obscene delight. He watches, panting, as Connor falls apart beneath him, the throb of his son’s cock and the spreading heat when he comes for the second time even more pronounced, enveloped as he is in Haytham’s tender, abused flesh. 

Once Connor is through, Haytham pulls off with a wince and a groan and slumps onto his side to gather his son into a sweaty embrace, ignoring for the time being the slickness that’s now leaking slowly back out of him. Connor clings to him, shivering and distinctly vulnerable despite his size and power, and Haytham stares up at the night sky, uncertain whether he’s more ashamed or relieved to find he feels no guilt over what he’s just done. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

>  _Me, a week ago:_ eh I'm not all that into parent/child incest ships.  
>  _Me, 2 seconds after starting the Connor-and-Haytham-Team-Up missions:_ jumps into canoe and starts paddling furiously. 
> 
> (unlike Haytham, I do feel a *little* bad for doing this to Connor... oops)


End file.
